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test drive — winter

WINTER TEST DRIVE
Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.

The setting details and locations are still being unveiled in the game, so prospective players are welcome to play with established locations or create their own within the general setting of Mathias.

( Recommended listening: ♫ )

INTO THE ENDLESS
Winter has arrived in Mathias. Snow falls steadily, big puffy flakes that pile up quickly in drifts as the wind blows them around town. The trees in the forest are covered in it, the branches bending under the weight and shaking when the piles fall from them to the forest floor. The roofs of buildings become solid white and drifts form in doorways as the wind tries to rush inside anywhere it can.

New arrivals wake in the forest, with its winding paths twisting back on themselves as they branch in either direction. It isn't safe to stray from the path, there is a menacing fog that waits just a few yards inward in any direction, but for now, there is nothing impeding movement along those snow-covered paths that cut through the trees. Continue stumbling in one direction and you'll reach the small town, coming out near the mishmash of quaint houses that nestle beside crumbling ruins that used to be homes. But choose the other and you'll seem to stumble on forever, huddling against the wind until there seems to be a clearing up ahead—

And then nothing. The earth opens up before you in a ravine so deep that the bottom cannot be seen. The other side can be seen, tantalizingly out of reach, and there is the sense that safety is just beyond, if only you could get there. But with that sensation is also the knowledge that if you stay here, you will die. The edge seems unsteady, like getting too close would set it crumbling and send you tumbling into that dark endless nothing that waits below...

BODIES WITHOUT SOULS
Benedict Books is nestled quaintly on the square surrounding Mathias's Town Hall, a thick layer of dirt covering the front windows. Looking through those windows provides a much different view than looking directly into the shop through the doorway — vague shapes and forms of figures seem to be inside, though no details can be determined through the streaks of grime. Flickers that resemble flashlights can be seen passing along the windows from time to time, and on occasion there is even a muffled tapping sound that comes from behind the glass, as if someone is trying to get your attention. The same distorted figures can be seen looking through the windows from the inside outward, but moving from one side or the other reveals... nothing. There is nothing there, and perhaps it is all in your imagination.

A portrait hangs at the front of the store to illustrate the namesake of the little shop... that may, in fact, not be so little. Dust covers everything in sight and detritus litters the wooden floor, as if someone left the door open and allowed half the forest inside.

The books are mostly familiar titles from the 1990s and earlier, but close examination will reveal that key details seem to have been changed. They fill shelves in neat lines along the walls and rows in between, the building almost seeming to stretch on forever until, finally, a small office can be seen tucked away in the back. A glance back toward the front door gives the impression that the room isn't that big, after all. Strange that you previously thought so.

Prying the door open is the only way to get inside the small office; the hinges have rusted and are caked with dirt and grime. Search as you might, there are no interesting bits of information to be found here beyond a few inventory lists on the little desk. There is, however, a green and gold safe in the corner that, no matter how many times one turns the dial, simply clicks and clicks. Scratches around the safe indicate that someone tried to get in at one point, though there's no indication as to whether they succeeded.

THE END APPROACHES
Standing at the center of Mathias, the town hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Tacked onto the board are scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And over the center of the board, tacked on top of other papers, is a map discolored with age. Mathias Township can be read in the corner, a stretch of forest displayed beneath it, but everything else has been smeared to illegibility with red... ink? Upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the ink is actually blood, though whether it is human is unknown. And scrawled across that forest, nearly covering the illustration of a clearing and a large house within, are the words

he is coming
A number of tarnished metal pushpins are scattered around the edges of the board, waiting for future messages to be shared, and a stack of pristine white paper and pile of cheap ballpoint pens rest on one of three chairs beside the board. The chairs are clearly meant for those waiting for meetings and are covered in the same layer of grime as everything else in the building — everything except the pens, paper, and bulletin board.

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I. INTO THE ENDLESS.

[ ground control to major tom — the snow is what wakes dr. casper darling — the way it falls onto his cheeks, his eyelashes, the wetness forming at the collar of his shirt. the night ( is it night? the snowfall, the fog, the thickness of the trees; he can't seem to discern the time ) is freezing — beyond cold, the way the wind seems to cut him to the bone. darling stands, shaky on both legs, before he decides that setting off in any direction would be better than waiting for someone to pass, especially in this weather.

the last thing darling remembers is hedron. the communication that had settled between them — the warnings she gave. he wanted to see for himself what her protection meant, and the night before the outbreak of the resonance — he was gone. is this where she has sent him? the cold, the wind, the ruthlessness of the fog that seems to be endless? he doesn't understand, and he might never. darling is fine with that, for the most part, as he's learned not to question hedron and her guidance. in this moment all he wants is to find warmth, to find someone to ask what day it is, month, even year. he feels so distant from the bureau — he could be anywhere, at any time. while that's an exciting prospect, he can't help the overwhelming sense of dread that wraps around his mind and tugs.

when darling approaches the fork in the path — his eyebrows contract over his eyes. there's another pang of glacial anxiety; the unease that drops into his guts. which to choose? the fog continues to roll in, the condensation of it making the air icy but humid, and it gathers on his forehead in a thin sheen. thinking feels fuzzy, feels strange and far off. maybe it's the apprehension, maybe it's the strange environment — but finally, after a long period of thoughtful consideration, he takes the left fork. the dark seems to press against his eyes, his glasses on the end of his nose, fogged-up and hardly useful.

walking for what seems like miles, darling notes that the trees seem to bend into his path, the wind carrying the leaves across the dirt. it's a strange thing, the way that this path seems longer than the last. there's no fork this time, no signs or other form of markers. the snow flurries crunch under his shoes, the sloggy weight of the wetness that eats at his socks miserable. as darling pushes his glasses up, trying to make his way through this endless barrage of horrible weather — a clearing seems to be ahead. he welcomes it with a sigh, an airy laugh that bubbles up from his chest. rest. stepping into it, the break from the trees, the fog — he can hardly believe it. the moonrays ( night! winter! two things he's gathered on this strange journey ), illuminating the small patches of grass and rocks. he continues, and then —

— the ground is split, a chasm so deep that darling could have walked right into it. he swallows, thick and scared, the pebbles around his feet causing him to slip right to the edge and almost over. he's taken the wrong path, that much is certain. shifting his weight backward and away, slipping all the time, he gains traction by digging into the dirt with his fingers.

then, darling runs. ( from what? the ravine? or the adrenaline pumping through his heart that he wants to escape from? ) the chilly air enters and exits his lungs quickly as he cuts back down the path back to the fork. ]

II. BODIES WITHOUT SOULS.

[ the tapping on the glass of the bookshop is what catches darling's attention. he pauses, adjusting his frames before trying his best to see through the dirty film that coats the windows. there are lights — flashlights, maybe? — flickering inside from what he can tell. ( which, honestly, isn't much. ) he taps back with a rap of his knuckle, but no one responds. the lights continue to weave in and out of his scope of vision, the way they shudder this way and that — there's a sense of strangeness to it. almost inhumanly so. the fine hairs at the back of darling's neck stand up, and a shiver runs up his spine, straight into his brain.

investigating is either a very smart idea or a very stupid one — but darling hopes against hope that smart is what it pans out as. opening the door to the bookshop, mind braced for whatever he's about to see, and — nothing. not one light is flickering, not one person is present ( at least he thinks ) to tap on the glass. out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the lights seem to have moved outside. he quickly ducks his head, checking, one foot inside, one foot out. again, nothing. no one. not a single soul but himself. how odd. deciding that perhaps being inside would be safer, darling closes the door behind him. the portrait is the first thing he notices — the way it hangs stiffly against the wall. he observes it for a moment, the eyes following him as he steps fully inside. it's creepy, of course, but once he takes his eyes away from the picture, he feels more at ease. stable. alright.

it's just a bunch of dusty books. where is the harm in that? he walks through the aisles, fingers dusting off certain titles, and he hopes that he can find out what year it is, exactly. paperbacks of horror authors, sci-fi, romance — none of them resonate with a sense of solid, concrete dates or times. disappointed, he glances over to see that the aisle is longer than he had previously ascertained. it stretches, and darling can't help the dread that washes through his chest. a sneeze rattles his insides, his dust allergy rearing its head, but he's determined to keep forward, to keep looking through this store for any semblance of normalcy.

down the path darling goes, following the floorboards where they creak under his feet. the books pass, each and every one of them caked with years ( years and years, maybe ) worth of dust and grime. he can see the specks floating before his eyes, sticking to the lenses of his glasses. darling continues despite it, and as he finally reaches the end — there's a door. the hinges are rusty, even more so the knob, and he reaches forward, trying to jimmy it with a rustle of his palm. there's no avail to that exercise, so instead, darling pushes his weight against the door, shoulder pressed to the wood. on the third try, the door gives way enough that he ends up forcing the hinges to open.

the papers on the desk — that might give darling a date. he shuffles through them, the yellowed leafs stained, but without information of any use. with a sigh that leads to another sneeze, he turns, only to have the safe catch his peripheral. scratch marks stretch across the green-painted face, and curious, darling approaches it. he kneels down on his haunches, giving the lock a spin, but he hears nothing but old, worn-out clicking. again, again, again — time passes, and a sheen of dirty sweat gathers at his brow. giving up, darling stands, looking down at it, brows inched toward his hairline. this isn't going to work.

with a short huff, he leaves the office, but darling's feet stop in their tracks. the front door is right there — the aisles are no longer stretched, the books no longer in rows that seem never-ending. he blinks, then turns back to the office, then back again. he does this twice more, chest rising and falling with unease, with anxiety. without wasting another moment, he leaves the store, shutting the door tightly behind him. ]

III. THE END APPROACHES.

[ what darling doesn't like is the fact that the building is so quiet. his footfalls are the only sound that fills the hall, his worn shoes creating a solid thump with every step he takes. he had initially entered the building in search of answers — anything that might give him a better sense of where, when, and most importantly — why. the reception desk is covered with a thin film of something he can't quite place, so he decides against looking over it for clues. the chairs are also coated in the same filth, so waiting for someone to show up is out of the question as well. with a brief sigh, he feels the pull in his gut to leave, to not investigate further — but that's when he catches sight of the bulletin board.

the map is sprawled across it, the name mathias township in the upper corner. mathias. the name scribbles itself across darling's mind, the importance of where he is stored away and locked. this is where he is, but the two other questions still remain: when and why. darling leans in, pushing his glasses up his nose, and he examines the words: HE IS COMING. that alone makes his heart pound, the way that it's written in — what is that? against better judgment, he reaches up, rubbing his index finger gently against one part of the smeared substance, and that's when it hits him — it's blood. darling practically jumps back, dusting his hands off quickly. he doesn't know if the blood is human or animal, but does it matter? his lips purse, and as he glances around the board for another clue as to what's going on exactly — he sees the scribbles in different handwriting.

needs for supplies, needs for services, those offering services — darling doesn't know where to begin. he sees a mathematical equation, one that's easy enough to solve — but there are other symbols, ones that he doesn't recognize. this is odd enough, but the paper and pen catch his eye next. darling snatches a piece up, then a pen, his handwriting a bit desperate as he leaves his own note:

dr. casper darling — physicist.
former govt. employee.
open to information of any kind.

darling then backs away, placing the pen atop the stack of papers. he stares at the board, eyes darting again from message to message, and suddenly he doesn't feel as defeated. there are others, and they've all been here, at this exact point. his heart attempts to slow, but still there, big and bold — HE IS COMING. who? he? what does it mean? darling shivers, swallowing thick, unsure of what to do next. ]

WILDCARD.

[ hmu at

homelander or shoot a pm. <3 ]

Edited (whoops i need to learn how to count) 2020-11-30 06:08 (UTC)

[ helen steps into the town hall only moments later. she glances around the small but quaint area, crossing her arms from the cold. her brunette hair tumbles over her shouulders. it's only a few steps before she stops at the bulletin board.

her head tilts.

it's certainly an interesting display, isn't it? names of all sorts. messages, even some languages she can't read. a hand raises to touch the message written in red.

HE IS COMING. ]

Well, that's rather ominous .... isn't it?

Edited 2020-11-30 07:21 (UTC)

[ darling's eyes trace each smear of blood, and he has to admit the lines are hypnotizing in their terror. HE IS COMING. the idea of someone — or maybe even something — being on its way sends another shiver of apprehension up his spine. lost in thought, darling nearly jumps at the sound of another voice. his head jerks, chin lowered as he sees the stranger. she touches the blood, and he has half a mind to slap her hand away, as if the words are a hot stove, as if they're dangerous. he doesn't, but his lips do purse, his eyebrows low over his eyes. ]

Yes, I —

[ admitting that he's surprised that someone else is here, darling seems to choke back his own fear for the sake of civil conversation. it seems as if he hasn't spoken in years, his throat dry with the tension he's holding. he tries again, this time more clear: ]

Yes, it's very ... ominous. I can only imagine what it means, but I suppose I shouldn't dwell on it too much.

[ her head turns to the other man in the room, offering a warm and aged smile. she quickly glances him over. well, he seems normal enough at the surface. just as all of us do.

helen lowers her hand and turns to face her company.

also, she's very british. ]

Dwell away. Theories and hypothesis hardly come from us keeping silent.

[ darling notices her smile first. it's confident, the way that it creases her cheeks. it puts him at ease a bit, as if he's not completely alone, as if this is something to be studied rather than fall prey to the trap of fear. with a smile of his own, he notes her accent. just out of general curiosity, he speaks: ]

You're right — the interesting and probing side of this is the fact that we don't know. As horrible as it might seem, this is the opportunity to discover and learn. Forgetting that would be an oversight on my part.

Ah, a fellow scientist. I had the feeling.

[ she takes a few steps back in order to look at the board properly. there are certainly a wide range of people in this town. whatever is in charge certainly likes the idea of a varied population. ]

Unfortunately, we tend to learn the most after a horrible thing has happened. It would be far easier if we could learn from only the beautiful. Nature has always been a double edged sword, I'm afraid.

A good assumption, yes. I am a scientist — a physicist, specifically. I study strange things, and I have to admit that this is particularly odd. Fascinating, yes, but incredibly unusual. I'll have to learn more in order to form a hypothesis, of course, but this is a good jumping off point.

[ darling watches as she studies the board, and his lips purse. should he introduce himself? should he leave? has he said too much? the anxiety of all of it churns in his guts, but he decides on the first option. closing the narrow space between them, he offers his hand. ]

My name is Darling — Dr. Casper Darling. I think we should probably get to know each other, seeing as we're both interested in the facts of what's happened.

Ah, physicist. This place must be quite the conundrum for you then. [ she gestures to the other pieces of paper on the board. ] Enough people seem to be looking for information to form something of a study group.

[ helen turns to look at him with that smile still on her face. ]

Dr. Helen Magnus. A pleasure. [ she nods her head. no point in making the man more anxious than he is now. handshakes can come later. ] I have various doctorates, but, M.D. was my first.

Yes, as you can imagine — it's difficult to give this place a concrete label. There are things that are unexplained, yes, but the idea that it's all come together to form a tangible place? Both exciting and wholly unconventional. [ darling's eyes follow her gesture, and he nods, a small smile forming against his lips. ] I would think so, if people would agree to to questioning, of course.

[ when she turns fully, darling learns her name — dr. magnus. his nerves seem to calm at the gentle tone of her voice, the confidence she displays. with another smile, his back straightens as he feels a little more grounded, a little safer. ]

M.D. is impressive on its own, of course. How long have you been here, might I ask?

Good thing my line of work tends to be the "wholly unconventional" type. [ helen smiles again, eyebrows perking up briefly to add a bit of playfulness to her statement. ] I'd doubt there is anything else but questions in a place like this.

[ impressive on it's own. now only if he knew what else she could do. ]

Just today, I'm afraid. It's all very new to me as well.

[ one john constantine is leaning against the wall of the outside of the bookstore. he appears almost out of nowhere, cigarette in his mouth, letting it slow burn. he's gotten used to the taste of the brands here from mathias - but god does he miss his silk cuts.

one day he'll joke about it tasting like seaweed.

he slams the lid of his lighter shut and slides it into his pants pocket. he looks the new face over. huh. ]

Now, I'm guessing that means you didn't find a book to your liking. Doubt they're charging much to buy, mate.

[ the first thing that hits darling is the acidic smell of cigarette smoke. the second is the click of a lighter. he turns, watching as the man takes in a drag of said smoke, it curling from his mouth. darling straightens himself, spine rigid. dust is still sprinkled across the dark material of his cardigan. his glasses are a mess, so he takes them off, cleaning the lenses on the hem of the material. ]

Nothing of interest, no. Seems to only be a place to collect dust — none of the titles rang a bell. Strange, isn't it?

[ a wry smile, one that wrinkles the skin around darling's eyes. he places his glasses on his nose, pushing them up and settling them on the bridge. he doesn't know this man, but the way he seems relaxed and without worry helps darling's heartbeat slow down to a relaxed thump, thump, thump. the unusualness of the encounter seems to melt away, and darling rounds his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension he holds there. ]

[ an eyebrow raises at the glasses. huh. it only sticks out because he can't think of anyone else in town who has them. his head tilts, taking in the sight of the man. definitely one of those science blokes. the kind that will probably deny magic and heaven, hell. the like. ]

The whole town collects dust. It's abandoned. Except for the handfuls of us wandering about.

[ a shrug. strange? plenty in this bloody town is strange. the bookshop? he hasn't peaked inside yet to decide if that marks on the strange list yet. ]

Guessing this means you're new in town?

[ is his being new that obvious? darling works on dusting himself off — the cobwebs and mildew catching what seems to be every thread of material. after a moment, his lips purse, but he gives a nod to the stranger. his clothes are now somewhat cleaner than they had been before. ]

Yes — new. I'm Dr. Darling. Casper Darling. I've just arrived here, and I have to say that while I'm used to the unusual side of things — I haven't been able to make heads or tails of where we are.

[ darling doesn't dare turn back to the bookshop, back to the tapping, the lights. it all seems so surreal. he momentarily bites his bottom lip in thought. ]

Have you been here long?

Oh, a doctor. Our local profiler will love having someone brain-y to talk to. [ john gives a bitter chuckle. ] You're in a town called Mathias, mate. Somewhere New England... ish.

Since the first of us showed up. Two or three weeks, give or take.

Jesus —

[ neil catches himself mid-stride, a step taken backwards and off of the sidewalk. his hands launch from his pockets in a display of surrender; his eyebrows jumping neatly against his forehead. he's no stranger to the look — the classic misdirection of flight over fight. it might not be his standard expression, but he feels it more frequently since arriving here, creeping into his thoughts and etching more concern for danger than he's accustomed to.

he feels as though he should know by now — expect the unexpected. thus far, it seems to be lurking around every corner. ( not ideal, of course, for a man in his profession ) he's kept on his guard, but there comes that familiar silence again, growing too swollen and popping on a moment's pinprick. ]

You look as if you've seen a ghost.

[ his brow falls, making room now on his face for what he can only describe as sympathy. slowly, his hands move back to his pockets, fists balled. he settles himself to the asphalt, dropping a decent inch in height as he does. ]

Sorry — I never know if that joke is tasteless in a place like this.

[ he can only surmise it is and gives in to a more genuine question: ]

Are you alright?

[ darling stumbles out onto the sidewalk, dust covering the shoulders of his cardigan. it's also in his hair and on the lenses of his glasses — the flecks dirty-brown and sticky due to sweat. he dodges the stranger by an inch or so, then pauses to catches his breath. this is far too strange, the way things seem to appear and disappear. he hears another tap on the window and this time he ignores it, knowing that it must be a game meant to play. as his chest rises and falls, the sound of his heartbeat dims in his ears. it's only then that darling registers what the man has said, and he shakes his head to the negative. not a ghost per se, but something akin to it. the way the walls stretched, the way they closed in. the portrait, the grime, the smell of mildew and caked dust. ]

I'm fine.

[ a lie, but one that darling himself is trying to believe. he side-glances the man, then straightens his back, spine stiff. he begins to shake the dust off, hand brushing at his shoulders to remove the filth. he doesn't want to talk about it, not really, but then — another tap. ]

I wouldn't go in there — nothing of interest. Just a dusty book store.

[ darling desperately chants that: just a dusty book store in the back of his mind. his gaze sets upon the man, and he lowers his chin, looking over dirty lenses. darling wants to warn him, wants to tell him not to follow the lights — but would it be futile? ever since arriving here, unusual occurrences crop up more than what he's used to. it always feels sinister, as if someone is playing a trick on him personally. thoughtful, he takes off his glasses, cleaning them on the edge of his cardigan. he licks his lips, then decides on: ]

Just — take my word on it. Don't go in there.

[ i'm fine, the man says — and it takes all that he possesses not to act on the gut-punch of a laugh that threatens to make a hasty exit. instead, he glances back at the shop, scrutinizing it, the layers of dust that seem prevalent even from beyond its four walls. ( part of him can't look away — there's something about it, something, dare he say, nefarious as it seems to watch him back ) he settles on a distant, cynical grin when bright eyes find the man again, the corners of his mouth quirking, before he pries a spider's web away that dangles from the stranger's elbow. ]

Of course you are. Silly of me.

[ it won't do any real good; the man's clearly been through an ordeal. he reaches without touching, putting one foot to the sidewalk. neil doesn't dare to move any further, should his new companion decide to grow somehow irritable, and exhibit that aforementioned fight in real-time. ]

I'm not so sure there's a just anything here.

[ he can feel the shop staring, peering into their conversation. it listens with unseen ears and he finds it in his field of vision again. he swallows, thoughtful. a faint sound happens, but it doesn't fit right in his ears. it's as though it works on a side of glass he isn't situated on. the chill finds him and he shivers into the lining of his coat. ]

Has something —

[ neil frowns; has something — what? ]

Here, sit a moment. You're making me nervous now.

[ the spiderweb is picked off of darling's elbow, and he has half a mind to snatch his arm away. ( he doesn't — he actually finds the touch to be grounding, safe. ) his skin is ripe with gooseflesh, as if he can't work the cold out of his body. while the shop was warm, so warm in fact, that darling feels damp — but his skin is clammy and pale. he side-glances the stranger, and when he's asked to sit — he doesn't argue. he merely does. the bench is welcome, as darling feels wobbly on his legs as if he's run a great distance, and has he? he can't remember. ]

It isn't my intention to make you nervous. I've just —

[ what, casper? been in a bookstore that inhabits something you've never seen before? something paranatural in its own right? darling frowns, taking in a deep, steadying breath. he's seen supernatural, he's seen paranatural, but he hasn't felt personally involved. his generally cold demeanor toward discovery and what merits experimentation of said discoveries — he feels as if this is punishment somehow. maybe he should have done this, maybe he should have done that. darling licks his lips, tongue against the dry. after another moment, he meets the stranger's eyes. ]

This place, the entire town — I've never seen anything like it. While normally I'd be very excited to dissect it and find some sort of meaning, I'm afraid there isn't one. That's the hardest part to accept, I think, on my part. Not that I expect anyone to understand that, let alone myself.

Edited 2020-12-03 01:04 (UTC)

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test drive — winter

dr. casper darling — remedy's control — post-game ( spoilers abound ) — will match format.

iii. the end approaches

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ii. bodies without souls - and my 2nd kiddo

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ii. let's boogie.

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